I'm okay
by Not much a poet
Summary: High school plus Red eyeBatman Begins etc. Inspired by 'I'm not okay' by My chemical Romance. Hopefully this will get some songs from Panic! at the disco etc coming into it. Tell me if the rating needs changing.
1. Jack, exactly as he is

**A/N: This is based on what high school gave me, and what I wish it could be like. Okay, so this might be a little bit immature, but this is school life, people! So, this mixes bands, Red eye, Batman Begins, Breakfast on Pluto (maybe), and a few other things. This may go up a rating, but you will have to tell me if I need to do it. **

**And last but not least, this will be slow. I'm really weak against plot bunnies, and this is what one of the hopped up to me and whispered (or, whatever they do). Chocolate bunnies go to everyone that helps me out. If you want something to happen, tell me, and I'll see what I can do. No promises, but, you know… I've got loads of My chemical romance fans out there, so this one's dedicated to all you folks! **

What do you do when you're the butt of everyone's jokes? What do you do when your girl breaks up with you because you cheated, only to let the girl that you cheated _with_ find out and dump you at the same time? What would you do if you've just transferred and don't have anyone to help you on your way through the hellhole that so many people call 'high school'? What would you do if… Ah, forget it. You get the idea, right? High school is one tough gig, and if you aren't made of the right stuff, you might not make it through with your sanity, to say the very least. Drive past any one of these at any one time, and you'll find kids hanging outside like they shouldn't be there, like they've tried and failed at something, and can't see that they can start over.

Me? Well, we'll get to that soon enough. All I'll say is that I remember everything; how it started, how it happened, and how it ended. Funny, me being me, you wouldn't think that I would be able to recall these memories, let alone _want _to.

Okay, so here it is; I'm now driving at a speed which could potentially cost someone their driver's license. Thing is, there's not a cop to be seen for miles. Not now, not back at home, and not where I'm going. Crap, I sound like I'm thinking up a suicide note, don't I? Nah. Right now, it's just me, my new Harley Davison (my baby!), and the open road. And no, before you say something that could cost you your front teeth, _no_, I'm not some cowboy. Name's Regine Addams. I live on the outskirts of Los Angeles, driving to see one of my various friends. I lead an okay life; I'm pretty damn good at guitar riffs, I'm free and single, I don't live with my parents (no one to answer to), and I'm part of a well-respected gang. Okay, so I'm in high school, okay, so I'm a girl…Who really gives two shits? I've earned my respect from being who I am, _what_ I am. At first, people used to call me weird because I would rather hang around with the guys. Then they found a new word and used it against me ('Lesbo' they used to holler). Then they decided to just grow up and give it a rest. No, I'm not lesbian, you can call me weird, I don't care… I'm happy being who I am, and if anyone has a problem with me leading a life outside of the rut. Then so be it; tomorrow morning, they'd better not have a mirror around (at least, not with the mess _I'll_ make of them).

The black rubber tyres screech to a halt as I pull up to his house. It's the middle of the day on a Saturday; he should be up by now. If he isn't… Well, he _will_ be soon. I turn off the engine, take the keys out of their socket, put the fender down, and get off. The black aluminium exterior shines in the midday sun, as if saying 'You go, girl!' She's my baby. If anything happened to her, well…

I fiddle with my keys. There's one for the bike, one for my apartment, one for his and his brother's place… That's where it is. Setting it in the lock, I turn it and unlock the front door (let's face it; those two are _way _too protective. Especially since their parents have gone away for the weekend. Something about 'recollection'…). That means that they are free to do as they please (well, whatever they _themselves_ please, not as each other pleases). Those two are of a special breed of people, the type that you see hanging around, doing nothing, then only to find out that they're currently having the time of their lives. Well, not exactly that, but you get the picture. But once you get to know them, they're pretty okay guys. I mean, okay, there was that stunt a few months before I really got to know them with that guy being put into hospital, but so far, nothing too much out of the ordinary has happened. At least, not that I know of. Chances are, they're both part of some criminal mastermind cult who worships a first-prize-at-the-county-fair lemon, who are just inches away from world domination. Crazy? Yeah, Not entirely possible? Nope; those two are the type that would get into that sort of cult. You might as well give them a gang name, something like 'The randomness'.

When I step into the hallway, everything is dark. And when I say dark, I _mean_ dark; the curtains are closed, no lights are on, nothing, nadda. I'm guessing that only one of them is home right now (and I think I can guess which one it is). It is light enough for me to see, but just barely. I look around for the stairs (which is complete randomness coming from me, seeing as this is only the one-bazillionth time I've been here). When I find what I'm looking for, I can see the blue carpet that runs along the middle of each stair. Well, it would be a constant color, but the marks on it are a dead giveaway that something was up. No blood or anything suspicious, but what looks like water. As I tread on the first step, I inhale the strong odour coming from the first patch. It's tequila, I know it; not just from the way it smells, but from past experience where the parents have gone out and left the boys alone. Not the best move, since every time, it's always tequila that gets spilt. Well, there was that time with the vodka, but lets just ignore that. Right now, I've got a job to do, and it's going to get done ASAP.

Up the stairs, down the hallway, into the last room, knock on the door, and silence. Bastard…every bloody time… Except, not today. No, this time, it's personal. If at first you don't succeed, try and try again. Or, what other people say, 'When in doubt, do as the Vikings do'. Not a bad idea, actually…

The door puts up a strong fight as I ram my left side into it. If at first you don't succeed…

Before I can finish, I force my way into the room, big black door swing open with a crash. It startled me, but who it most surprised was who was waiting on the other side of the door. His face! Priceless. It would be something for the yearbook, had it not been for the rest of the scene; there he is, wrapped up in his white bed sheets, with…

'Beccy?' I half-laugh. Startled, yes. Shock, yes (same thing, right?). Why the _hell_ is she here? Then it occurred to me; we weren't the only one in the room, were we?

'Jack…' I sigh. This is so like him. He's a regular Casanova, now that he's with us.

'The door…It opens when you pull it…' He stutters, pointing behind me. When I turn round, the door can now open when you push it, as well.

'I can fix that…' is all that I can say, in a matter-o-fact sort of way (and all in one sharp exhale of breath).

I then turn back.

'Beccy?' I ask, pretty much suggesting that she goes. Right now. Otherwise, it won't be pretty. She takes notice, and jumps from the bed, grabbing her things. I would look away, but we're both girls, right? Besides, if I let my eyes go, she might not be as quick as she should be. Within minutes, she is fully clothed (cheerleader-style), with her bag and pom-poms (must have been from last night's game), kissing Jack good-bye and a 'thank-you-for-the-lovely-evening'. Makes me sick…

I noisily clear my throat, telling her to cut to the chase and go before I add something else to the alcohol-stained floor. She nods, and is on her way out of the broken door. And out of the front one.

'Thank you. Thank you _very _very much!' He whines, sitting up and relaxing by folding his arms at the back of his head.

'My pleasure…' I smile. I know that if anyone else other than our gang were to say that, it would have been severed heads at dawn tomorrow. He lets me know that with a growl of disapproval. Funny that, he always _did_ seem to do that. And make a pretty damn good job of it.

'So what you here for? I'm willing to bet that you weren't just here to send her on her way…' He smirks. Then something occurred to him;

'You... weren't…, were you?'

'Oh yeah, course I was. Just like I enjoy seeing your naked body every fucking time I come over here, where I find you _fucking _another _fucking_ **_slut_** that you've only just met the night before…' I argue. No, I shout. I'm screaming on the inside, but I can't show him that, can I?

It's not as if I voluntarily stopped mid-sentence, but I did. I couldn't stop it. If I had tried to speak, he still wouldn't have heard it. Why? Because that son-of-a-bitch that had just been sitting up in bed was now inches away from me, all except for his face (which was currently only millimetres away from my own). Lips aside, he was keeping his distance. I called him 'Casanova' a few moments ago, right? Let's just say that it wasn't just his good looks. Ah, what the heck; this guy was a damn good kisser. I'd already known that; this had happened so many times before. He was just testing to see if any of it had softened me up, weakened me. Okay, was this guy using moisturiser on his lips? So soft…his tongue…so nice…my eyes closed…damn good kisser…hands on his face…gonna regret all of this one day…And pry lips away from mine. Easy does it. Don't want to hurt him now, do we?

He still refuses to keep a safe distance away from me. I grin.

'Slut…'

'Is that a bad thing?' He counters, grinning like some Cheshire cat. I can only shake my head in a satisfaction/disapproving way.

Actually…

I look around the room using the corners of my eyes, my main focus still being those crystal-blue eyes of his. What am I saying? We're only in high school! Okay, so we're on the senior end of it, but really…

Bingo! (was his name-o)…

There's only one thing to do now. In one smooth strike, Jack sinks to the floor, swearing and cursing the fact that he was born a boy. I guess he should just be thankful that I used the nearest piece of his underwear as a boxing-glove-type thing.

'Put some clothes on…' I smile, turning my back like a real bitch. His loss; he should've been wearing clothes, he shouldn't have tried his theory out for the millionth time this week. I can still hear him as I close the door. Who knew that he had such a colourful vocabulary?

That's what kind of a girl I am. Rule numero uno about me; keep your family jewels hidden at all costs. I'm a bitch, I'm not a lover, I'm a child, I'm not a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm (sometimes) a saint. And I do _not_ feel ashamed!

Then I turn back to see him still curled up in a ball. Not the best sight in the world…

'Come on! We've gotta go!' I bellow, knocking him awake with the sound of my voice.


	2. Rod, the new kid

Another day, another set of random joys. Ah, how school treated you. Just another cock in the murder machine, or so says my good friend Jerry. God knows what that means, but there we go. It's funny; randomness seems to be all the range these days. To fit in with it, all you have to do is suddenly blurt out something totally irreverent.

And they call us anti-Einstein's… Whoever 'they' are, just listen to this; we actually made up a way of life!

No, right now, I'm just being tempted to put on those steel-toed boots of mine and kick the lump of uselessness that currently occupies my bike seat. No, that would be cruel. Better just stick to leaving him there to boil out here in the hell-hole that we call 'Outside'. Seriously, Jack really needs to stop drinking that much at night. Not only will it kill his liver, it will also just give him the involuntary hobby of sleeping throughout the rest of his life.

I care too much. Why the hell am I still standing out here in this heat anyway?

☼☼☼☼†

I hate it when this happens. What am I doing? I'm dragging his sorry ass through the (thankfully) open door of the classroom from which Jack will spend the rest of his days if he keeps this up. Everyone is looking at me, as if to say 'What the fuck are you doing?' Good question, actually. But it's an even better one to ask Jack when he comes to. If he was awake, he would probably be dying of embarrassment right now. I know I am. Then again, half of the class probably won't give a shit after the next period or so; a quick gossip about it here and there, you know, the usual. Once everyone that needs to know knows, it will all go down into their massive mind folders that are labelled 'Jack's stunts', Jack's doings', or 'dick head's stuff' (for all of those ex's that he cheated on). Me (again)? All I know is that it all goes in one place, and goes out in the opposite direction. After all, this _is_ Jack Rippner, and this is basically has class role (hobby etc).

Just as I slump him down on his blue plastic chair at his somewhat plastic and white(ish) desk, the teacher walks in with her notes and books and various notebooks. If that pile that was currently performing the circus balancing act was to get any taller, she wouldn't be able to see where she was going. Unthankfully for me, she saw that I was the only student in the class that was standing up, and so, charged the blame upon me. At the start of the year, maybe I would have at least stood there in mock-shock, but if you know me by now, this is only routine. It should be Jack that gets done, not me. _I _am the one who has various and (mostly) uncalled for blemishes on my PR, whilst _he_, in terms of these 'uncalled for' mark, has a spotless record.

Bastard…

'Young lady, sit down before the principal walks in' She demands, as if I wouldn't do so if she hadn't told me to.

As I do as I was told, I look at jack, who is currently still sleeping with his head set firmly on the desk. Before I can do anything else but glare, something else comes into my frame of view; a hand (or more importantly, the right hand of the guy in front of Jack). I look at him;

'Jerry, what the hell are you doing?' I ask, concerned as to if he has actually snapped. Why the heck is he poking Jack's head?

'Just making sure that he hasn't taken route yet…'

Seems a logical answer.

┌┘└┐∞

When the time comes that we should have our first period, we are all disappointingly cut short of our educational intake due to an announcement from the teacher (which, I have to say, we have always called 'Da Hoe'. She struts up to the centre of the front of the classroom, right in front of the whiteboard. Hands behind her back like an army general, she begins to speak (a torture that we all must endure at some point in our currently meaningless lives);

'Everyone. As you all know (Melvin, pen down!), this room wasn't filled at the start of the year to its maximum capacity. So. I would like you all to welcome our newest addition to the class. And no Stacie, _not_ at all in that way. You either Gareth…'

She goes to the door and summons this new kid to come into the room. After said action, she then resumed her original position;

'This is Rodney Fuller. Be nice'

We all look towards the door. He still hasn't come in yet. A good thing too; if this poor kid is wearing the classic geek look (like his name does), then so will his face when it heads towards the 'swirlpool'. Unfortunately for him, Da Hoe reopens the door and somewhat drags him into the room. The incredibly, unnervingly, quiet room….

'Hiya, _Rodney_…' Chuck the eleventh jock mocks, laughing at the same time. Why, though, is a complete mystery to me.

Okay, I'll describe him to you; he's white like Dracula (well, almost), his nails are painted black (painted nails being the first sign to most people as 'gay'), brimstone-black hair (probably dyed), and black clothing that covers most of his body. His boots in their own right are those that look so hard, black and decorated with metal that they would be banned in a fight (if you catch my meaning. Total ball-busters…)

'A Goth. You expect us to keep a bloody _Goth_ in class?' Pamela whines to the teacher.

'Indeed. I expect you to welcome him with open arms, and I do _not_ want you to give him the classic 'bucket-head' treatment…'

With that, everyone slouches back down, thinking up new ways to top their best-played 'welcome gift'. To make matters worse for the poor kid, there aren't any spaces left at the desks.

All except for mine…

'Rodney, please go sit over there…' Da Hoe says sweetly, pointing towards my empty chair next to me. _My_ chair. The one that _I _use to put my legs up on when I'm feeling tired… When he sits down, he is still wearing his (quickly-became) normal expression; impassive. The kid's got guts, to say the very least.

'Hiya Rodney…' I quip, just to see if he's listening (or at least open). For a few moments, he doesn't say anything, eyes transfixed on the board, _learning_. Then it comes;

'It's Rod… And I you're gonna give me any of the usual shit, do it quickly before I actually get my roots…'

'And I would do that then _why_?' I ask, playing the 'jock'.

'Cause if you do, I'll be moving schools again, and you'll be moving into that hospital across town 'Ravenscar' or something, right?' He scolds coldly, eyes still facing the front.

I gulp.

The minutes until the bell rings go by before I actually talk to him again;

'You wanna come with us at lunch? Band practise…'

**A/N:  Ah, thank the lord of the marshmallows for Kerrang!. And you may be wondering where the hell I get all these characters from. Movies. And music, and a few based on people that I know, that kind of stuff. Anyway, happy holidays, folks!**


	3. Band practise

**A/N: I've totally been meaning to put this little side note in since the last chapter, but I forgot. So here it is; think of this as an AU, where high school is happening now, and the person (or people, as it MAY turn out) remembering all of this is stuck somewhere in the near future. **

The bell rings for the second time this lunch hour. It has been for the last day and a few halves; the normal bell, and then somewhere down the line, it starts again for about a minute, like it's a fire drill. It normally would give a toss about it, but when you're right next to it when it starts…Let's just say, when I rule the world with my flaming sword of death in my left hand, that bell will be the first one to perish within my reign…

Enough of that. I'm walking down the busy and overcrowded corridor, where screaming and shouting seems to be the language of choice no matter what. Week-old candy, spilt sodas, and various pieces of crushed Lay's pieces litter the place, leaving a rather wonderful pattern on the bottoms of your shoes if you aren't careful. The stench of BO, the litter, and whatever someone scraped on the floor last week fill not just mine, but (quite possibly) everyone's noses. It gets so bad sometimes that all you can do is started to hurl… hasn't anyone ever heard of trash cans? Noise. Smell. The knowing that soon this will all turn into some sort of mosh pit… everything. This has to be the worst corridor of them all. I don't care what the hockey team tells me about other schools being that much worse… This has to be the crowning king glory of them all. And I'm only half-way through the hallway! Everyone seems to have this massive vendetta against you that they have to push you in the most uncomfortable way possible, and into the most uncomfortable of things. It would be bearable, if it weren't for the fact that both the basketball and football team (plus cheerleaders) are now coming out of their gym lessons… hasn't anyone told them that keeping their arms up like that will be just as painful as if they didn't? It just makes it worse for everyone else!

I finally make it through to the other side of the hallway. I come to the big blue, double-door that is a gateway to my sanctuary. I open it slowly, not just because it is incredibly heavy, but because everyone is still forcing their way through everyone else, therefore having to lean against _my_ door, knocking it back…

When I manage to open it enough, I slide through like some noodle making its way through the other pieces to get to the fork. Seriously, that's me. Damn frat parties…Because of them, I haven't been eating properly. I spend so much time out that I forget about the essay that needs to be handed in tomorrow morning. So, what do I do? Homework before eating properly. A couple of coffees later, and you've finished your coursework, feeling so tired afterwards that you forget to eat something…

I'm in. I'm standing in another hallway, completely deserted apart from myself and the constant smell of sterile stuff and new carpet. The carpet is supposed to be exactly the same color as the rest of the school, but since this corridor isn't exactly popular with the majority of the crowds, it looks virtually new. Whilst the other carpets are a mixture of yucky dark blue, whatever people spilt on them, and just about anything else that found it's way into the school, this one is… Oh, what am I saying? I'm late for where I should be, and I'm stuck here standing like a retard, thinking about carpets… I gotta lay off the booze, to say the least.

☺☻☺♪

'Took you long enough…' I'm lovingly greeted by one of the very people that have been waiting for me for the last ten minutes.

'Hey, KC…' I mutter back. I'm in deep shit, so I try my best to act like I care.

I sit down between Jack (this is one of the few things that he makes sure that he goes to) and a drum kit (or rather, _the_ drum kit). KC sits on the stool behind it, George sitting next to Jack, Rod sitting directly in front of me on the other side of the small room.

'So, my _dear_ Harley-girl, who exactly _is _this nut…' George starts, in a very sweet and mocking tone (which then turns sour). '…who has been sitting where he is for the past five minutes, after rudely barging in after we tried to keep him out?'

I stare at Rod (who is clearly the subject of George's current ranting). I then stare at George. Then the floor. Then back at George;

'This is Rod…' I'm cut short when Rod shoots me a glare, telling me _not _to say his proper name. 'He's a person…'

Everyone takes the opportunity to stare back at me. 'Person'? What an intro…

'I said he could come. You got some problem?' I finish, my own tone of voice turning hard as a rock.

Everyone shakes there head. Well, all except Rod; he's too busy staring at the floor, looking equally fascinated with the carpet as I had been a few minutes before.

Jack gets up and heads to the cupboard. When he comes back a few minutes later, he is piled high with instruments.

'You'll break those if you aren't careful…' KC warns him, clearly as worried as the rest of us that he will drop them all.

'Relax…' Jack says, putting them down carefully.

'Sticks…' He says, tossing two red and black drumsticks at KC (narrowly missing his left eye). '…Bass…' He chucks a bass guitar at George (who catches it just before it hits the ground). '…lead…' He goes to throw the lead guitar at me, but I make a dive at it before he can. 'And one for me…'. He helps himself to the last instrument; another lead guitar.

'What about Rod?' I ask, since no one else is taking any interest in him.

'Dunno… You play anything?' Jack asks him. He gets no reply.

I go up to the certain goth in question; 'You play drums?' I ask, purely out of spite of KC, who is currently eyeing him up.

'Guitar…' He replies. Before I can actually go and get one, George makes his mark;

'We've already got too many guitarists…'

Again, I looked at him, inwardly saying 'So?'

'So?' Rod says for me, still looking completely disinterested. Really, does he have to look like he doesn't give a shit? Because quite clearly, he does.

'You gonna stand up for yourself now?' KC shoots back, getting just a little more pissed off.

With another moment of 'looking', Rod comes to the decision to go;

'I'm outta here?' He sighs angrily (yet so passively at the same time).

'Gonna let some _girl_ fight your battles for ya?'

Rod turns back. _I _turn back. If there was ever a time for a cliché, it would be now; fire was pretty much burning through both of our eyes at that remark. KC had that look in his eyes; the type that a kid gets when he's just insulted a college student, and knows exactly what he's going to get next. Yet, it isn't Rod that lunges first. KC knows better than to insult the fact that I'm a girl that enjoys going around with guys, and that there was pretty much as low as he could sink. It takes a full few minutes before he can stop flinching at punches and kicks, and it takes even longer before the others can actually let go of me because of what I'd do if I wasn't. It's times like these that I seriously consider a sex change (and everyone else considers putting their money together to book me a place at the zoo).

'Bitch…' KC finally manages to say under his breath. With that, they all grab me again to save him. I look at him, and then at the mess I've made with the drum kit. Not exactly what I'd call a Da Vinci masterpiece…

Then the door opens, this time from the outside.

'Took you long enough…' Jack says to the guy that is now walking towards the cupboard.

'You're one to talk…' He quips back. When he comes out, he brings with him the stand for the keyboard. 'Who's the new guy?'

Of course! He hasn't met him yet, has he?

'This is _Rodney_…' KC smirks, filling as much insult in his answer as he can. The thing is, no one really cares anymore; it's already got too old and too boring.

'This to meet you, Rod…' He says, still panting from obviously running from halfway over the school. He sticks his hand out and Rod shakes it politely. Finally _someone_ is being nice to him. After that, he goes back to the keyboard.

'You're a real geek, you know that, Jon?' Jack smirks, watching his twin brother set up the keyboard on its stand.

'At least I wasn't the one that got grounded for using Mom's credit card on the complete set of Pokémon cards…' He argued behind a turned back. He had already learnt to ignore his brother's idiotic comments back before his seventh birthday. Then you look at me and think how much of a loser I am to still play 'mother' to Jack, so to speak.

The instrument let out a large screech as it turned on, making everyone wince in pain. We should be used to it now, but…we just aren't.

'So, why _are_ you late, anyway? Jack asks Jon again.

'Had places to go…' He mutters, sorting an invisible problem out (which mean that his back has to still be turned)…

'No, you just got detention…' Jack smirks.

'Didn't…'

'Did…'

'Didn't'

Shut up…

'What did you do this time? Set fire to Lacey's hair or something?' Jack grins.

'Nope… She put me up for 'cheating' in the test…' Jon grimly answers.

'So, what is the moral to the story?' He smiles lazily, leaning back into his arms (which are currently behind his head).

'BUT I DIDN'T CHEAT!' Jon shouts back angrily. Talk about your blow-aways… It's never a good idea to make either Rippner brother angry, but when it's one doing it to the other, well, that gives a whole new meaning to the subject altogether…

'No…' Jack says, in an almost soothing voice, like a mother or some shrink. '…the moral is…'

Everyone listens to him, like they where literally on the edge of their seats. Even Rod… jack catches hold of the moment. A sly smile creeps onto his face;

'Never look down a girl's top in a test…' He burst out. Everyone pauses for a moment; did he actually say what I thought he said? Even Jon doesn't seem to have heard it properly.

'But I wasn't…' He whines.

'Then you must have been cheating…'

'I wasn't!'

'Then you were being a pervert…'

'No I wasn't! I wasn't even looking anywhere _near_ anyone else!'

'You talking about guys as well? Dude…'

This whole argument went on for quite some time, until George finally remembered what we were actually here for; band practise. We all agreed that we should get a move on before the music teacher decided to take a stroll into our room and ask what the hell we were doing.

'So. I've got the lyrics' Jon said, holding them up. We didn't actually have a complete song yet, so he had gone and put all our ideas and the tune that we had into a song. All in one night by the look of things. When I actually read them, they weren't too bad actually (taking into account that jack would have had a big influence on the whole song from his ranting when we were all together _and_ the fact that they both lived together).

Can't say remember a lot of the songs that we made up, and that was one of them. All that I can remember was a bunch of random things strung together like what you remember from one of those nights that people say that you don't remember (in a cliché, a blur). Okay, here's what I remember; George was complaining that Jon had changed the lyrics (I think that he must have wanted his motto in the song, but Jack must have come up and changed them just for the sheer hell of it). I think it was something like from 'cock' to 'cog', or something. Another thing that I remember was that the song was one of those sorts that totally took the piss out of society (or, on this case, school). I can still remember the tune, but, in all honesty, I can't seem to remember the words to it at all. The whole thing was pretty immature, but so were we.

But for now, I've got a plane to board. I hate flying, but when you've just been to a funeral, you don't particularly want to stay in the same state as you have been for the past two days (three, if you want to count nights). Besides, what else do I have to do besides just sit here drinking? The guy that asked me to join him is way gone by now, caught up in business. Ah well, back to the rut. Back to the hotel, back to the family, back to the millions of problems that the new secretary has probably caused by now…


End file.
